


The One Where They Go to Folsom Street Fair

by fleete



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BDSM, F/M, Ficlet, Humor, M/M, One Big Happy Pack, Pony Play, Pornography, Spanking, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-22
Updated: 2012-09-22
Packaged: 2017-11-14 19:57:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleete/pseuds/fleete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Scott un-ironically eats a giant sausage, Lydia makes new friends, Jackson is confused (in his pants), and Stiles is exceedingly suspicious of the number of people who seem to know Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where They Go to Folsom Street Fair

**Author's Note:**

> Just a tiny ficlet in celebration of Folsom Street Fair 2012.
> 
> Thanks to concinnity for the beta! Any remaining mistakes are mine.

The weird thing is how it’s a lot like any old fair. There are booths going down the middle of the blocked-off street, vendors selling clothes and knick-knacks and paraphernalia, organizations waving brochures and asking for donations. At the intersections, there are people selling street food and beer. It’s all really rather normal, except for all the nakedness. And the leather. And also the latex. In fact, it doesn’t feel very normal at all, but Stiles is still adjusting, okay? He needs a minute.

 _Let’s go to the city_ , Derek says. _Let’s go to a fair_ , Derek says. _I have some people I need to talk to_ , Derek says. _Entertain yourselves_ , Derek says.

Stiles has never seen so many dicks in his life. He’s standing on a street corner trying to keep his eyes from dropping below waist level, except no, that doesn’t help, because there are women here too, and holy cow.

He doesn’t know where the others went. Presumably to “entertain themselves.” They’re supposed to meet up at Harrison and 8th in an hour.

“CLEAR THE WAY!” someone yells, and Stiles steps back to let a carriage drawn by four people in full-body latex pass by. They’ve got reins on their heads and bits in their mouths, and a couple of them have artificial manes adorning their latex. The woman driving the carriage gives Stiles a cheerful wave as they drag her forward. Stiles closes his mouth.

Right then.

Stiles finally finds Jackson in the crowd surrounding a booth where a high, well-lit stage has been erected, and several people seem to be in the middle of an intense whipping scene. The recipient of all the whipping is hanging upside down from lots of rope and is, well, gorgeous—strong, angular shoulders, colorful geometric tattoos, a long pink cock, and the most beautiful pair of breasts Stiles has seen in his goddamn life. Stiles doesn’t know what gender the performer is, but whatever, because gender is clearly a square little ticky box on a government form, and this deity is above such things. Whenever the whip connects, the person _howls_ in a way that makes Jackson twitch next to him, and when the whip-wielding top pauses to yell something-or-other about punishment, they just grin up at him with dazzling white teeth and yell right back.

The crowd cheers. Jackson shifts his feet for the fifth time in thirty seconds.

“You all right there, buddy?” Jackson doesn’t even spare the energy it takes to turn his head and glare. He just glares straight ahead, not taking his eyes off the performers as the top starts back in and begins working up a rhythm with the whip.

“Hokay then,” Stiles says. “Well, I’m gonna try and find the others. Remember we’re supposed to meet at that one corner in an hour.”

“Okay,” Jackson says, just as the theatrical cries of the upside-down performer reach a ringing shriek.

Stiles tears his eyes away and goes in search of the rest of the pack.

Scott and Isaac he finds in the midst of all the street vendors, both wolfing down footlong sausages, corndogs, and ears of corn. Jeez, did they purposely pick all the phallic foods?

“You mean did we pick all the tasty foods? Yes we did.” Isaac puts his head back and downs his corndog like he’s a swallowing a sword. Or deepthroating a cock. Stiles makes gagging noises while Scott laughs appreciatively.

“Just come on, will you? We need to go find the others.”

“I saw the girls go that way,” Isaac says, pointing back the way Stiles came.

“Excellent. Let’s go.” They grab Jackson on their way, and finally come across Allison, Erica, and Lydia in a long, tent-like booth that appears to sell nothing but corsets. Erica is trying one on in the back corner, her breasts jiggling perilously over the top. She and Allison seem to be having a spirited discussion about colors; when she spots Stiles and the rest of them, she demands that they all weigh in on the relative sexiness of black, red, and purple.

Stiles is happy to do so, of course, except for how Lydia chooses that moment to critique the fit of Erica’s corset, going so far as to _put her hands_ on Erica’s bodice and pushing it up to demonstrate whatever mysterious effect she thinks a corset should achieve, and nope. Done. Stiles pivots on the spot, because he has a boyfriend, and there’s only so much his fantasy life can accommodate before he’s unable to look people in the eye during pack meetings.

He spots Boyd—Boyd! Dependable, fully-clothed Boyd!—at a booth across the way, so Stiles makes a beeline for him. He is chatting very seriously with a booth attendant clad only in black leather chaps.

Stiles claps him on the back when he gets near. “Boyd!”

“Hey,” Boyd says.

“How you doing? We’ve got to meet up before too long.”

“Sure,” Boyd says. “It’s almost my turn.”

“Your turn for what?”

It is almost his turn, it seems, to pull his jeans down, go face down over a weird chair, and get spanked for charity.

Stiles’ mouth is still open, watching as the man who’s about to _spank Boyd in the middle of the street, holy cow_ , asks him some questions, presumably about what he’d like to get hit with. There’s quite the collection of options set up on one side of the booth, but it seems that Boyd is opting for the guy’s bare hand. Erica lets out a whoop right next to Stiles’ ear.

“Go Boyd!” she yells before turning to Stiles. “I paid for him to do it; isn’t it awesome?”

“Is this a good idea?” Stiles says. “What if he wolfs out or something?”

“Nah, Boyd’s got excellent control when it comes to stuff like this.”

“Oh dear god.”

And then the rest of the pack are cheering him on, and some of the crowd even joins in. Jackson has that strained, constipated look back on his face.

Stiles avoids looking at the area involving Boyd’s rather spectacular ass or his tight, white briefs, and instead watches Boyd’s face. There’s an occasional, subtle flash of yellow in his eyes, but mostly he looks relaxed.

A hand on the back of Stiles’ neck makes him jump.

“Okay?” Derek says, amused.

“Yeah. Um—” Stiles gestures at Boyd. “I had nothing to do with that.”

Derek tilts his head and gives Boyd a perceptive look. “He’s fine. C’mere. I want you to meet someone.”

And then they’re off in a new direction, Derek holding him by the hand so that they don’t get separated. Stiles is used to Derek getting appreciative looks every now and then when they’re out together, but this is a whole new level. The number of men who give Derek the up-and-down with their eyes is kinda…well. Stiles is floating somewhere between pride and jealousy, when they pass one leather-clad dude who actually points at Derek. Derek just drags Stiles onward, but Stiles is able to catch the first few words the guy hisses to his buddy:

“Hey, did you see him? Is that—”

Stiles narrows his eyes at Derek’s back. “Derek, what—”

“In a minute.”

They pass by a booth for what must be some kind of porn studio, if the pictures on either side are any indication. One of the guys at the booth gives Derek a little wave, and Derek actually lifts a hand in acknowledgment as they pass by.

“Derek. Before, when you said you had to talk to some people.”

“I lived in San Francisco for a while. I used to work with some of these guys.”

“Uh-huh. And by ‘work,’ do you possibly mean ‘take off our clothes and have sex on camera’?” He’s laughing as he says it, because Derek doesn’t even like to pose for group _photos_.

But Derek slows, stops, and darts a uncomfortable look at him. “Yes. Is that a problem?”

Stiles’ mouth is open again. It’s becoming something of a habit.

“No,” he says first, to get that look off of Derek’s face. “No, no, not a problem, not a problem at all, um. Wait. So you were…in porn. You made porn. With your body. On camera. With other dudes.”

Derek’s eyebrows are drawn down into a V, still very serious. “Yes.”

“Oooo-kay. Okay,” Stiles sucks in a breath. “You were a _porn star_ ,” he realizes all at once.

Derek huffs. “I wasn’t a star.”

“I’m dating a _porn star_ ,” Stiles says, trying out the words on his tongue. They taste good.

Derek seems to realize that Stiles is not judging him, so he turns and resumes walking. Stiles jogs to catch up and nearly runs into a couple giving each other handjobs on the sidewalk.

“No, wait. That’s not possible. I’ve seen, like, all the gay porn ever. I would have remembered if I saw you.”

“All the gay porn ever?” Derek asks sarcastically.

A new thought occurs to him. “Oh my god. Tell me that at some point you were referred to as a ‘bear cub.’ Tell me it’s true.”

Derek rolls his eyes.

“You _were_. Do you still have the videos? Do they exist somewhere? Can I see them? Oh god, I have to see them, seriously. Please?”

“Maybe. I don’t have them. You can ask Parker if he’ll give you a DVD.”

“ _Awesome_ ,” Stiles says, heartfelt. “Who’s Parker?”

Parker, it turns out, is a very tall bearded man in his fifties who owns a porn studio and throws his arms around Derek with a paternal affection when he sees him. Stiles maybe stares a little, because Derek doesn’t _do_ hugs. But after the guy releases Derek, he turns to Stiles with a genuinely delighted, “And you must be Stiles. Wow, you’re gorgeous,” which, okay, is nice. And then he buys them drinks and shows them around the studio’s nearby offices and invites them to “a live show in thirty minutes, it’ll be great!” But Derek begs off, saying that they have to meet up with friends.

“So he seems like a good guy?” Stiles says when they’re walking back. He can’t stop admiring the DVDs in his hands. Derek isn’t pictured on any of the covers, and the titles aren’t particularly imaginative (COCKSLUTS 3!), but Stiles is already half-hard imagining what’s on them.

“He is,” Derek says. “Parker refused to hire me until I was twenty-one, and even then I was the youngest guy at the studio. So he always checked in on me, made sure I was okay. I met some other people in the industry who had bad experiences, but I never did.”

Stiles nods.

“I just wanted you to meet him. I wanted you to know about that part of my life. Just. For what it’s worth.”

Derek is studiously avoiding Stiles’ gaze, and that makes Stiles smile a little. “That’s cool. I’m glad you told me,” he says, and watches Derek relax as they walk on for a minute or two.

“Are you really okay with me watching these?” Stiles asks, lifting the DVDs.

Derek shrugs. “If you want to. I don’t really get off on watching my own porn, but if you’re into it—”

“Oh, I’m into it,” Stiles interrupts hastily. “I am _into_ it. I am so far into it, I am out the other side.”

And that makes Derek smirk—that mind-blowing, sexy smirk that Stiles now appreciates for its _pornographic_ quality. They need to go back to the hotel. Now.

They find the others gathered with a group of drag queens. One queen is wearing an intricately detailed tutu and is having an animated discussion about something-or-other with Lydia.

“Oh thank god,” Scott says when sees them. “Lydia’s been talking about lipstick for fifteen minutes. Dude, did you buy porn?”

Stiles hides the DVDs behind his back. “Yeah. So.”

Scott opens his mouth to say something, but Derek must give him some kinda alpha look, because he closes his mouth just as fast.

They stay long enough for Lydia to finish explaining how her lipstick lasts so long—a complicated process potentially involving glue, but then Stiles isn’t listening very closely, he’s holding _his boyfriend’s porn, jesus christ, where is a DVD player_ —and then she and the drag queen take a picture together, and they’re off.

“Wanna go in?” Derek asks the group as they pass a store with a huge pair of flags out front: one rainbow-striped gay pride flag and one leather pride flag, all black, blue, and white, with a red heart in the middle.

“Oh, yes! The guy at the booth told me I could get a good paddle here,” Erica says. To his credit, Boyd doesn’t even blink; he just follows her in. Stiles sighs, because he has better things to be doing, but goes anyway when Derek cocks an eyebrow at him. It’s a big store, people from the fair all milling around. Stiles finds himself wandering down a row of leathery things clearly meant for hitting people. There are so many different _kinds_.

He doesn’t jump this time when Derek touches the back of his neck, just leans into it.

“Are you…,” Derek says against the back of his head. “If you wanted to do anything, any kind of impact play, I’d be—”

“’Impact play’? Is that what they call it? Sounds all professional-like.” 

Derek makes a noise of agreement.

“Do you do that in any of the videos?”

“No. It’s mostly fucking. And,” he coughs primly, “some come play.”

Stiles sucks on his teeth to avoid laughing and looks down at his DVDs in wonder.

“We are going to have so much fun together,” he whispers to them. Derek laughs into his hair.

“Erica’s buying her paddle. Let’s go,” he says, tugging on Stiles’ arm.

“Oh, but did you want…” Stiles gestures at the leather products around them. He lifts his shoulders in an attempt at nonchalance. He can’t see himself wanting to be whipped, like the performer on stage was, but he trusts Derek to help him figure out what’s good. “I’m game if you are.”

Derek gives him a discerning look, one corner of his mouth tucked back in the beginning of a smirk. “You can start by using your hands on me, if you want, and then we can work our way up.” 

Stiles stops dead in the middle of the aisle. “My hands on _you_?”

Derek’s smirk blooms into a smile that’s three parts sin and one part shy. “If you want.”

Stiles has no idea what’s going on on his face right now, but it doesn’t matter. Jackson comes up behind him and grabs his elbow.

“We’re getting food now,” he says. “And none of that hippie tofu crap. Meat.”

“I saw a sandwich place next door,” Lydia says, appearing at Derek’s side.

“Okay,” Stiles gets out, his eyes still on Derek. “Okay.”

Derek grins, all teeth, and they go eat sandwiches.

**Author's Note:**

> On the off-chance that anybody out there is gonna be at FSF tomorrow (Sept. 23, 2012) - feel free to PM me! I'd be happy to buy you a beer!
> 
> [Folsom Street Fair](folsomstreetevents.org) (NSFW) happens every year in San Francisco, and [Mr. S Leather](https://www.mr-s-leather.com/) (NSFW) is a giant leather store full of all kinds of goodies. Oh, and the [sandwich shop](http://www.aksubs.net/) ain't half bad, either.


End file.
